


Empty Rain

by seranum



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Five Times Prompt, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, dave and bro are surprisingly sentimental, like one mention of a boner that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seranum/pseuds/seranum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of the thirteen years you've lived with your Bro, he's only kissed you five times. Out of the thirteen years you've known him you've only kissed him once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Rain

**Author's Note:**

> wow I actually wrote Stridercest. wow.  
> wow.  
> Also there is no real sexy-times in here, only like allusions to it? and stuff? so yeah nothing explicit...

Out of the thirteen years you've lived with your Bro, he's only kissed you five times. Out of the thirteen years you've known him you've only kissed him once. He's fucked you a million times, fought you twice as much, and made love to you twice. He told you he loved you three times.  


The first time he kissed you was chaste, innocent. A gesture of exasperated yet affectionate care from a brother to his charge. You were five, maybe four. The memories are a warm haze but you remember hands just starting to form callouses from sewing and sword fighting patting your head. Up, you think you said, and Bro lifted you onto his chest.  


You're getting to heavy for this, little man, he might have said, and you could have giggled into his hair.  


The two of you were walking home from kindergarten, or was it the beach? and you babbled on and on about something inane, possibly the birds you saw or the state of the weather that day. (Gray rain, was it? A small blessing in Texas, and the first time you've ever seen rain.)  


You were half asleep by the time you reached your shitastic apartment (although you can't recall where it was) and mumbling gibberish as he opened the door. He laid you down on your bed, tucked you in, and kissed your itty bitty little lips good night. You were still clutching his shirt.  


(Of all the memories you have of him, you think this might be your favorite, as faded as it is.)  


The second time he kissed you, you were eight and winner of the 3rd grade spelling bee contest. Your winning word was strife and because of that you think he let you win the fight you had with him later that week, small hands fumbling around a slender yet heavy sword.  


Bro wasn't in the audience because of work and you remember feeling relieved because of that because if he was there the pressure would have made you fudge the first word (binoculars). But when you showed him the blue ribbon there was a huge smile on his face for a split second before he hid it again under his poker face.  


He did make a big show about hanging it on the fridge and he even ruffled your hair and let you drink apple juice past your bed time. The two of you watched a movie from the bargain bin at WalMart (something about the muppets; this was before glassy stares from beady eyes started haunting your every dream) and before you went to brush your teeth he had bent over and pressed his lips to yours for what was probably two seconds before he went to clean up the living room. You think he might have said something along the lines of _I'm proud of you kid_ , but you're not sure.  


You went to sleep easy that night, smiling.  


The third time he kissed you was completely on accident. You were ten and in the middle of the epidemic of cooties and learning about puberty and being even further isolated from the female (well, the girl) population.  


The two of you were on the rooftop, in the middle of one of the most intense battles ever (or so you thought) when you skid on a patch of loose gravel and teetered on the edge of the building, about to pitch over the side when Bro grabbed one of your flailing hands somehow and pulled you back. (A 20 story drop which you ended up having nightmares about for weeks, but that is not the point.) The momentum made you crash into his chest hard enough to knock him over to the ground and when you landed your face kinda ended up on his. (The whole thing was completely his fault— if he was paying attention he would have moved and let you fall all by yourself.)  


For an awkward minute you kinda laid there, Bro frozen stiff under you as you gathered your bearings and got over the, you know, near death experience.  


When the realization that your lips were on his lips sunk in you might've shrieked and jumped off. _Cooties_ , was something you yelled, along with _I'm going to die!_  


The look on Bro's face read _What._ in bold letters and it took him three hours and a chocolate sundae to convince you that no, no you are not going to die because of some imaginary bacteria that is transferred through physical contact, otherwise you've be six feet under by now.  


(Now that you think about it, he has seemed relieved when you let the kiss go, like he thought you were going to run away and never come back. Why would you do that? He's your brother.)  


The fourth time he kissed you was not on accident, but rather because he was hammed off his ass.  


It was sometime during your eleventh year, right around the time you met Rose, Jade, and John. You were staying up late to talk to them when you heard the front door slam and heavy steps in the living room. Normally Bro was as silent as you were then since you had picked up your coolkid facade, but you could tell he was not exactly in control of his finer motor functions from the way he clomped around outside.  


Of course, you still didn't notice when he flashstepped into your room until his cool arms settled around you, the smell of beer on his breath as he talked.  


And did he talk-- back then he barely uttered sentences longer than ten words around you in a single day but it was like a dam had burst and all the backed up words were rushing out along with the alcohol. You never took him as the sentimental type but he frequently mentioned your older habits and the little things you did you never thought he noticed. But the thing he went on and on about was how he missed you and how shitty of a brother he was. Prince of Assholes from the land of Dicks and Apologies. Could you ever forgive him?  


When it seemed like he had run out of things to say he pressed his lips to the back of your neck, warm exhales fanning the few wispy hairs you had there before he left the room. On the computer screen three PesterChum windows were blinking as your friends wondered where the fuck you went. Your hands were frozen above the keyboard, your face in its increasingly normal nonchalance as your heart beat fast inside your rib cage.  


(What scared you the most wasn't the intimate kiss. No, it was the fact that Bro disappeared for two weeks after without a word, even though he acted like nothing happened on the chance occasion you did see him.  


The moment you saw him back to his usual spot on the couch you had told him that you didn't think he was a shitty brother and then absconded the fuck out of there before he had a chance to react.)  


((That was when it all started going downhill-- or, rather, you think uphill.))  


The fifth time Bro kissed you was the last. Warmth, warmth everywhere, from the tips of your ears to your curled toes to your groin. And it was absolutely wonderful.  


It seemed as if the only external part of him that was normal human temperature was his lips, soft and slick with cherry chapstick because they tended to get really chapped whenever he wasn't paying attention.  


You were on your tiptoes, fists curled into his shirt because this was probably going to be the only time you'll get this physically close to him (wrong) and you wanted the soak in as much of it as you could. Bro's cracked leather gloved hands were cradling your face like you were something precious to behold.  


You don't know how discussing the toppings for that day's dinner escalated into a quiet make out session but you were so not complaining, especially when Bro swiped his tongue over your bottom lip and you opened your mouth just a crack.  


It was weird having another appendage in your mouth but you could deal because it was Bro, and he knew exactly what to do to prevent you from thinking at all as he brushed over your gums, the edges of your tongue, the roof of your mouth. You were making uncool sounds and your own tongue kind of hung around like a clump of lead because you were thirteen and uninterested in anyone who wasn't bro because no one else understood like he did.  


When you parted you were red and needy but you ignored everything in favor of summoning enough strength to your knees to go call the pizza place before they closed.  


(Bro had loved messing with you, making you wait your turn. What's the rush? he would tease as you bristled with hormones and sexual frustration. We have time.)  


The first, last, and only time you kissed Bro Strider was on April 13, 2009. You had just finished talking to a troll who claimed she was blind and a friend. You were lying on the ground, staring at the sky, because you just bounced off of an unbreakable sword. Your Bro's sword. That you tried to snap in half. _Because it was fucking impaled through his motherfucking chest._  


You have felt empty before, of course. You felt empty when you were young and Bro was busy doing work to support not only him, but you too. You felt empty when he avoided you during those two damn weeks and you felt empty whenever he left you hanging with an awkward boner and a frown. But this was different. There was pressure on your chest, going whoop whoop too bad sonny your brother and your lover is bleeding all over the floor sorry kiddo you never got to bone him or anything or say goodbye.  


You crawled over to the pool of blood around Bro encircling him like that holy aura of an angel (shut up brain shut up shut up). He was face down but his head was on its side, looking in your direction.  


If you were someone else, if you were John, you would have taken his shades or his hat to remember him by because you have a shit memory. If you were Jade you would ease the sword out of his still warm body and make him presentable, in honor of the man you raised you from scratch. If you were Rose you would be broken beyond repair, 20 stories down the deep end and swimming through regrets and what if's and could have's.  


But you were Dave Brodacious Strider, so all you did was grab his blood soaked cracked leather gloved hand, leaned forward, and gave him an innocent, chaste kiss on the lips. A gesture of gratitude and mourning goodbyes from a brother to his love.  


The sky started to rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: changed one line that messed up the entire flow-plot-thing.


End file.
